Regret
by Shrike
Summary: A short, one-chapter fic. Maaaaybe a bit dark. Dilandau's the 'star' (who else? :)) Just one episode I think they should have put in the movie


Ah it's me again, after a 'little' pause. Long story. Anyway, here's something movie related. . . I'm returning to that scene that never ceases to fascinate me (why is beyond me :)), namely the finger bending thing. Don't ask me what's the point of it cos it has none. It was done just for fun (it rhymes, it rhymes!). Nothing philosophical or whatever this time, just read and enjoy :).  
  
Oh and I don't own Escaflowne or any of it's characters. Some lines here are taken from the movie, you'll figure which ones.  
  
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The unnatural, bluish candlelight was nearly extinguished when invisible rush of pure might bent it in its sweep across the room. Eerie presence of magic was felt rather than seen by witnesses of Lord Folken's quiet but immense rage; energy he emanated passed by without effecting any of them, just to focus its entire strength on sole kneeling figure in the room. Like captured by dozens of invisible hands, the pale man with expression of naked fear on face was jerked up clearly against his will and in puppet- like manner forced to obey Folken's iron mind-power. Dilandau's resistance was futile, even somewhat ridiculous. The red eyes were wide - he knew what would come now. Punishment.  
  
"Back when you roamed the barren lands with those wild dogs. . . who picked you up?"  
  
Though heavily robed, Folken slowly advanced towards his helpless servant in utter silence and with immanent floating grace. The only sound in entire vast space of the chamber, apart from muffled cries of Dilandau's desperation and clinging of his armor, was an awkward -  
  
*SNAP*  
  
"AAAAArrrrgh Lord Fol- . . . Lord Foken!"  
  
The young soldier cried out in agony. Tears of stinging pain blurred his vision, but even in dim light of scarce candles he could see - one finger of his helplessly manipulated hand was bent back in unnatural angle. Dilandau inwardly shuddered at unnerving sight and struggled to shake off Folken's invisible claws that held his will in uncompromising clench. However Folken showed no effort whatsoever whiles breaking yet another feeble resistance and moved ever closer, his voice deadly calm and calculated.  
  
"You command the Dragon's Special Forces . . . who gave you that?"  
  
Folken's eyes narrowed down as he uttered the last word and concentrated to mentally push Dilandau's body over the edge again, forcing it to do the impossible. The young pale man felt sweat trickle down his forehead and sides of face, plastering silverish hair to white skin. Black leather glow on arm extended before him creaked again promising more pain, but there was nothing he could do about it being exhausted from recent vain struggle. He felt attack of Folken's might like tide of unbearable heat in head. The world spun out of focus, everything ceased to exist apart form growing, melting heat and wriggling hand in front that seemed to belong to somebody else or move on its own.  
  
*SNAP*  
  
As Dilandau sharply inhaled in effort to stay in the world of living, the first thing he saw was his own finger falling backwards like in slow motion, followed by lightning of agonizing pain that seemed to rip and tear its way in all directions through his body.  
  
"Lord Folken. . . Lord Folken!"  
  
It was an animal-like, instinctive shriek and it took a moment or two for Dilandau to comprehend it was he who made it. Pain alone, much worse than from just one broken finger, proved useful this time as it prevented him from losing conscience completely. Folken, satisfied by the lesson he taught let the younger man fall.  
  
The moment Dilandau hit stone floor he curled up in fetal position holding soaring limb. . . and concentrating.  
  
"Don't disappoint me . . . Dilandau. . . " - Folken warned, half-knowing he'll see just that happening.  
  
Pulling additional might from pulsating pain, mustering strength from helpless rage and wounded pride, the soldier summoned sphere of pure energy around him and directed it across the room, towards his tormentor.  
  
However, Folken proved quicker and stronger once again; he was expecting something like this all along, even approached the soldier to provoke the reaction. Instead of delivering deadly smite, Dilandau's charge of magic passed by him like he wasn't even there and Folken instantly hit back knocking Dilandau out cold, not wanting to waste any more time on such idiotic games. Not a single onlooker moved or dared to comment and complete silence suddenly reigned in the room.  
  
The older man sighed. Although he just punished the volatile captain for not obeying strict orders he knew Dilandau would use the first convenient chance to disobey again, even if convenient meant two seconds after actual punishment. He would forever be impossible to control.  
  
What now; to break him or to put to good use this unpredictable and aggressive character?  
  
"You are one of the few on Gaea who have Dragon's blood running through their veins. Even if it's not pure it gives you command over magical powers. I was putting my hopes on those powers of yours."  
  
"I. . . " - the barely alive form on the floor was struggling to speak coherently. Folken ignored and continued knowing Dilandau will, though half- dead, understand very well what he'll propose next.  
  
"Dilandau. . . If you want, I'll bestow new powers upon you. Powers worthy of a Dragon's descendant."  
  
"I . . .want. . . power. . "  
  
Folken couldn't help inwardly smiling - 'I didn't expect anything less form you.'  
  
- - - - - - - -  
  
Jajuka picked lump of meat off the floor and took it to medicine room. Unlike the rest of fortress, this chamber was very well lit with wide table dominating from its central position in room. The dog-man, in discordance with his great stature and rippling muscles, gently placed Dilandau on flat surface, careful to turn his head on side to keep still trickling blood out of his mouth and nose. After all he just went through and survived it would be too hellishly ironic to helplessly suffocate afterward, on this table.  
  
Up to this moment Dilandau invested great effort in closing uncooperative twitching lids over wide-open eyes. Muscles in his irises haven't recuperated from shock yet and wouldn't awake as a reflex and shrink huge pupils, so bright light in this room stabbed his brain like thousand virulent needles; thin, sharp and bitter. He unintelligibly groaned when Jajuka pulled leather glow off twisted fist, but had no power for further protests.  
Jajuka worked methodically and skillfully, eager to end this grim task as soon as possible. Lord Folken was very clear he wanted Dilandau fixed and ready and Lord Folken always got what he wanted. . . even if his way took him over mountains of dead bodies and through rivers of tears.  
  
Dilandau on table moaned and tried to frown as Jajuka pulled dislocated fingers back in their places, but silver brows just wouldn't listen and connect above closed eyes. Their owner still hadn't regained control over even such a basic mimic. Jajuka frowned instead reaching for bandages, moving like he's been through the procedure tenths of times before.  
  
"One of these days you will really get yourself killed if you continue like this."  
  
Mighty fists handled transparent-white bandages delicately, wrapping them around numb fingers in a way to minimize unavoidable pain as much as possible. He didn't care whether Dilandau could hear him or not. Jajuka practically raised him and, though often hit and beaten by the young captain, he knew where were the limits of his conduct with Dilandau and knew this sort of statement was within them. Barely, but still within.  
  
"Lord Folken was right though" - the man Folken earlier referred to as a wild dog from barren lands worked on, assuring the wounded fingers were tightly demobilized - "you failed him. Not only we didn't capture the white clad girl he was after, but our troops were completely unnecessary wasted."  
  
If he heard him, Dilandau made no sign he understood any of what's been said. His hand in Jajuka's fists was cold, colorless and dead, feeling like hand of a corpse.  
  
"So much death and pain. . . ." - the tall man finished his work and stood over Dilandau's broken form. He seemed deceptively peaceful and calm, barely breathing while puddle of blood around his mouth silently widened minute after minute. Frown vanished from Jajuka's brow to be replaced by expression of deep, deep sadness, so unexpected on such bestial, rough face.  
  
"Was all that pointless fighting and slaughtering today really worth all this?"  
  
To Jajuka's great surprise Dilandau's eyes opened just enough to reveal deep, blood-like reflections of their specific color. In stark contrast to dark-crimson stain across them pale, almost white thin lips trembled a bit before one end finally managed to form a faint, crooked smile. Somewhere from deep inside Dilandau's throat came something that might have resembled his twisted-heartily laughter, causing the huge man to involuntary step back because its nerve-chilling origin. It sounded like Dilandau was choking on his own blood. Seeing Jajuka's reaction Dilandau managed to grin, or better say, to grimace a bit wider. His lips shakily moved without a sound, but after a while Jajuka thought he actually heard something and thus closed in again, putting huge head closer to smirking blood-covered lips.  
  
"It. . . was worth. . . every. . . second. . . of it."  
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Yah, for me that's Dilandau being Dilandau all the way :).  
  
Love it, hate it? 


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